


Missing Piece

by ConsultingStag



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abduction, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Romance, Slash, Torture, casefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-18 01:25:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 16,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingStag/pseuds/ConsultingStag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is furious and leaves the flat after an argument with Sherlock. A short while after that he wents missing and now Sherlock tries his hardest to get his only friend back. Along the way he discovers that maybe John means more to him than Sherlock had thought. Johnlock</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was a perfectly normal day at 221b Baker Street, but John had had a really bad day at work and the small piece of patience he usually had for such a normal day was wearing thin. Very, very thin. So it should be completely understandable when the good doctor snapped.

  
It was his bloody right to snap from time to time. Normal his ass! This was absolutely intolerable and unbearable.

  
“Goddamn it, Sherlock!” John shouted furiously, standing in front of the opened fridge. Tapping his foot impatiently, he waited for an answer or better yet for the named person to step into the kitchen. No reply. No Sherlock came.

  
“Get you lazy ass here. Now!” he growled the last part. John’s voice was commanding and the consulting detective had learned that it was better to hurry up when John used that tone on him. The first time Sherlock had heard this tone was after he had accidentally burned a few of John’s jumpers. One experiment hasn’t quite gone as planned and they had unexpectedly caught fire. Sherlock had sought shelter in Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen, not reacting to John’s shouting, in exact that tone and ignoring the text messages he sent.

  
It had all ended with Sherlock’s violin being defenestrated.

  
The consulting detective hurried into the kitchen, after he had hid his new violin and stopped in the doorway. Just to make sure that John wasn’t planning to toss him out of the window. The poor violin had looked pretty battered afterwards. Sherlock eyed his flat mate suspiciously until he was sure that no physical harm would be done to him and approached John slowly.

  
“Is there any problem?” Sherlock had no clue what he did wrong this time. Was he supposed to buy milk? John narrowed his hazel eyesand simply pointed inside the fridge where his favourite teapot and one may add that it was the very last teapot this flat possessed, was. Filled with a human liver and some kind of alcoholic liquid.

  
“What in God’s name is this, Sherlock?” John asked him accusingly through gritted teeth.

  
“I do believe that you can see fairly well, John. It’s an experiment. A very important experiment which could be of immense help in a future case” Sherlock explained calmly with a raised eyebrow. It should be quite obvious. John growled warningly and took a step towards Sherlock. The other man didn’t flinch, still not understanding what the problem was.

  
“Your sodding experiment is in my favourite teapot and now I won’t be able to use it anymore. In my teapot, Sherlock! The very last teapot I had the pleasure to call mine!” John shouted furiously, grabbing the collar of Sherlock’s shirt roughly.

  
“Fine. I’ll buy you a new one or two if you want” Sherlock offered confused. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal.

  
“That’s not the point, Sherlock! I put up with your grumpy moods and your childish behavior. With your insults and your horrible violin playing in the middle of the night. I tolerate it when I try to talk to you and you ignore me” John spoke slowly, not yelling anymore but still sounding incredible pissed. He continued to rant about Sherlock’s intolerable habits.

  
“You know, I put up with all of them. All I had asked for in return was that you would stick to a few rules. One of them was ‘keep your experiments away from my things’. I didn’t think that I was too much to ask for” John sighed “Maybe I expected too much from you” the good doctor said disappointed and let go of Sherlock’s collar. Sherlock flinched. He didn’t want to disappoint John. He wanted to meet and exceed John’s expectations so that he would be proud of him and praise Sherlock.

  
“I’m going out. Don’t know when I’ll come back” John grabbed his jacket and made his way out of the flat without looking at Sherlock again. The door slammed shut.  
“I am sorry, John” Sherlock whispered, still standing in the middle of the kitchen, looking at teapot.

  
Just as Sherlock was about to return to the living room, his mobile phone started to ring. The caller ID showed that it was Mycroft. What could his brother possibly want? Sherlock sighed and answered.

  
“What do you want Mycroft?”

  
“Sherlock, we have a problem. It’s John” Sherlock’s heart seemed to stop for a moment before it started to double its pace.

  
“What’s wrong with John? What happened?” Sherlock tried his hardest not to let any emotion show in his voice, but the panic still managed to seep through.

  
“The signal of his phone disappeared. We should still be able to track him, even if he turned it off. You know what that means, Sherlock”

  
“Inform me immediately if you find something out” he hung up without waiting for Mycroft’s reply. Yes. Sherlock knew what that meant. Someone had abducted him and destroyed his cell phone. He started to pace through the empty flat, trying to calm himself down so that he could think clearly. Caring wasn’t an advantage. It clouded his mind. Slowed it down. Shut it down.

  
John was missing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Try and solve the riddle =)

As the minute slowly passed by Sherlock grew more and more anxious by the second. His restless pacing hadn’t stopped since Mycroft’s call. Sherlock checked his mobile phone again, although it wasn’t switched to silence, just to make sure that he hadn’t missed any calls. No missed calls. He with a shaky hand through his dark curls and cursed silently.

  
He had to do something! But what? Sherlock had no clues. It was his fault that John wasn’t here with him right now. If Sherlock hadn’t used John’s tea pot for his experiment than there would’ve been no argument and John wouldn’t have left the flat. It was no use to blame himself no, Sherlock knew that. Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about the disappointed look on John’s face. The way he had walked out of the door, without turning back to Sherlock even once.

  
There had to be something he could work with. The abductor was surely after him, not John. Maybe it was a mistake that they had taken John. No, probably not. They were professionals. They had completely destroyed John’s mobile phone. What did they want?

  
Sherlock stopped mid-step as a horrible ideas crossed his mind. What if they wanted to take revenge on him? They would hurt and torture his John, eventually even kill him. Sherlock shuddered at this thought. The thought of losing John forever was just too dreadful. No, that couldn’t happen. Maybe they wanted something from him? The consulting detective resumed his pacing, but no nothing came to his mind. If the abductors wanted something then they would send a message of some sort.

  
What should he do until then? He had to do something. Anything! Sherlock scolded himself. He had to think things through calmly. Like he usually did in all the other cases. It wasn’t of any help if he let his emotions get the better of him. But this wasn’t any other case. This was about John. His John. His only friend. The first and only person Sherlock felt so comfortable and completed with. Sherlock sight in frustration and went through his already tousled hair once again.

  
He could hear the voice of Mycroft ‘Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock’. His brother was right, but Sherlock couldn’t help himself. He cared about John. More than he ever thought he’d care about someone. For a short moment, Sherlock considered to cauterize this feeling. There was still a small amount of his once favourite drug hidden in his bedroom. Sherlock hadn’t used it for a long time. No, the chances that it would obfuscate his mind were too high. He had to use something less dangerous.

  
Sherlock went to fetch his nicotine patches and stuck four of them on his right forearm. The nicotine went through his body almost immediately, numbed it. He laid down on the couch and brought his hands up to his chin, taking up his usual thinking pose.

  
Ignoring the not so slight chance that the people that had kidnapped John wanted revenge, Sherlock started to think through all the possibilities. Where there any cases he hadn’t solved yet? No. So these people didn’t want Sherlock to stop working on a case. That meant they wanted something from him. Sherlock didn’t know what it was yet, but they would surely leave a message for him.

  
It was likely that they observed the flat, but if Mycroft’s men hadn’t noticed anything than it was no use to look into that any further. Sherlock closed his eyes to keep all the unnecessary information out of his mind. The arm chair where John had sat the previous evening. There was still a small stain on the fabric from John’s trousers. John had walk through the rain quickly and had stepped into a puddle. The laptop that stood on their table. It wasn’t closed and turned on standby. John had wanted to write something, about one of their closed cases, Sherlock presumed, but didn’t get to finish it because Sherlock had disturbed him.

  
Two hours had passed since John had gone missing. No call from the abductors yet. What was taking them so long to call and demand what they want? Did they already leave a message for him? Leave a message for him somewhere. Sherlock eyes popped open and he stood up from the couch in a swift motion. Why didn’t he think of that sooner?! He dialed Mycroft’s number and waited for his brother to pick up.

  
“Mycroft, where is the last location of John’s phone?” Sherlock listened intensely as Mycroft told him the exact location. He practically ran out of the flat, grabbing his coat and scarf when passing by and hailed a cab.

  
The driver stopped. Sherlock paid the driver and flung the door open. He looked around. His heart started the beat faster and faster. He hoped that his deduction wasn’t wrong. Sherlock couldn’t stand the idea to wait any longer for a call or something to happen. Unable to do anything until then.

  
There was John’s mobile phone, smashed to pieces on the pavement. Sherlock ran up to it and picked it up. His breath caught in his throat as he turned it around to look at the gravure. Only the name Harry was visible, but that was enough. So, where was the message? Sherlock studied the phone thoroughly. Nothing. He looked around again until he spotted a lamp with a note on it.  
It was filled with numbers.

  
7 11 2 61/ 41 61/ 19 47 37 41 11 67/ 23/ 2 41/ 67 73 61 11/ 71 19 23 67/ 37 23 71 71 37 11/ 61 23 7 7 37 11/ 23 67/ 41 47 61 11/ 71 19 2 43/ 11 2 67 97/ 13 47 61/ 97 47 79/ 71 47/ 67 47 37 79 11/ 3 79 71/ 37 11 71/ 73 67/ 67 71 2 61 71/ 11 2 67 97/ 71 19 11/ 43 11 89 71/ 41 11 67 67 2 17 11/ 83 23 37 37/ 3 11/ 23 43/ 97 47 73 61/ 37 2 43 7 37 2 7 23 11 67/ 41 2 23 37/ 71 19 11/ 7 47 5 71 47 61/ 23 67/ 2 37 23 79 11/ 2 67/ 37 47 43 17/ 2 67/ 97 47 73/ 7 47/ 2 67/ 23/ 67 2 97/


	3. Chapter 3

The streetlight flickered as John walked by. The street was empty. Not a single soul had passed crossed his way for the past ten minutes or so. Muttering curses under his breath, John vented his anger on a stone, sending it flying ten meters ahead of him.

What did Sherlock think? Probably nothing, like he did so often. The oh so great consulting detective. Using his only tea pot for Christ’s sake! Sure, John could still use it. Even if it had a human liver pickled in alcohol in it. He shivered in disgust. No. There was no way he would brew tea in it ever again. He didn’t want to imagine what his beloved tea would taste like. He sighed in frustration. He shouldn’t have reacted like that, but he had just snapped and couldn’t stop himself.

Sherlock probably didn’t even care. His sodding flat mate surely wasn’t thinking too much of it and thought that John was overreacting.

To John this wasn’t solely about the tea pot. He felt hurt and disappointed. It seemed as if Sherlock didn’t care enough about him to stick to the few things John asked him to. What was he to Sherlock? Sure, Sherlock had told him that he was his friend. His only friend.

More than enough times John didn’t feel as if Sherlock regarded him as such. John felt like some kind of pet. A dog maybe. Loyal. Following Sherlock everywhere without a second thought. Sometimes questioning him, but still following him and his orders. Letting it’s owner ignore it after trying to get his attention and failing.

Yes. John nodded thoughtfully, feeling pathetical. That was exactly what he was to Sherlock. Far too often did Sherlock act without thinking about John’s feelings.

 Squeezing his eyes shut tightly for a moment, John stood still as he tried to shake this hurtful thought off. That wasn’t true. Sherlock was a self declared high functioning sociopath, so it was kind of understandable that he had some difficulties with treating John as a friend. How should he know how friends treated each other if he never had one before? John sighed again. He should go back.

A car stopped beside him and he looked at it frowning. It was an expensive looking car that didn’t fit at all in this part of town. John resumed his walking, lost in thoughts once again as the doors of the car opened and two men jumped out. They were dressed in black, masks covering their faces. One pulled out a gun and pointed it at him.

Before John had even a chance to react, the man pulled the trigger.

Brown eyes, widened in shock and filled with horror slowly travelled down to where he was hit. Another shot fell. John staggered. John’s looked at his chest. His body slumped down, his feet unable to carry its weight.

There were two big needles stuck in his chest. Some kind of sedative dart, John noticed relieved. His mind began to drift off as his vision became blurry and darkened. The initial relieve he had felt was replaced with terror and dismay as he realized what that meant.

They didn’t want him dead. At least not yet. Strong arms grabbed him roughly and dragged him over to the car. John wanted to fight his attackers, but he couldn’t move a single finger, no matter how hard he tried. His consciousness  slipped away.

They needed him for something.

Sherlock.


	4. Chapter 4

It took Sherlock only a few seconds to solve the riddle. He had noticed at first glance that all the numbers on the note were prime numbers. The lowest was the two, the first prime number and the highest was the 101. That was the 25th prime number. So far, so easy. The only number that stood alone was the 23, the ninth prime number. If Sherlock’s deduction was correct, which it almost always was, then it stood for the ninth letter of the alphabet, the ‘I’. Quickly, Sherlock inset the other letters and started to read the message.

_Dear Mr. Holmes, I am sure this little riddle is more than easy for you to solve, but let us start easy. The next message will be in your landladies’ mail. The doctor is alive as long as you do as I say._

Sherlock narrowed his eyes angrily at the message. At least he knew now that John was still alive. What did they want from him? If they dared to hurt his John- No, he shouldn’t think about that eventuality. It would only distract him.

He turned around and putting the note in the pocket of his jacket he hurried back to the flat. Why would they put it in Mrs. Hudson’s mail and not his? Did they think that Mycroft checked Sherlock’s post before it reached him, but didn’t bother with the mail of his landlady? Whoever had abducted John, was very careful. That would make it a lot harder to track them down. At any other time Sherlock would be delighted at such a challenge, but not now.

The closer he got to the Baker Street, the quicker his heart started to beat. Probably because he had started to run at some point. Sherlock couldn’t remember. When he finally got there, he was out of breath and sweating.  It was already late in the evening. There would be no mail before tomorrow morning, but Sherlock still hoped that something would be there. He searched the whole hallway. There was absolutely nothing there. Sherlock cursed loudly. How could he possibly wait until tomorrow?

There was no use in asking Mycroft to check the surveillance camera for the car they had obviously used to abduct John. There hadn’t been a single surveillance camera in that street or anywhere near it. They had chosen the place well. Sherlock thought with a grim look on his face.

He went upstairs and laid down on the couch and informed Mycroft about the message. After a few minutes he stood up and started to pace. He needed more data! Sherlock didn’t have enough facts to deduce anything reliable from it. And he had absolutely no idea how long he could keep his mind from straying off from the few facts he had and would start to imagine all kinds of possible scenarios and outcomes. Not for long he learned. And most of them made his heart clench painfully.


	5. Chapter 5

Darkness surrounded John when he woke up from his unconsciousness. For a moment panic and fear threatened to engulf his mind as he tried to move but couldn’t. Then he began to remember what had happened. There had been a car and masked men. He had gotten shot. John’s eyes widened in horror at that memory before he recollected that he had only gotten shot with sedative darts. He struggled, but his hands were tied behind his back to a chair. His legs were tied as well. At least they hadn’t gagged him.

Should he try to call for help? No, if there was a chance that someone could hear him scream than his abductors would’ve gagged him as well. The chair clattered loudly when John floundered, trying to free himself and echoed loudly in the otherwise silent room. Maybe he was in an abandoned warehouse. But there didn’t seem to be any windows. If there were any then there should be at least a small beam of light somewhere. On the other hand John didn’t know how long he had been out. For all he knew it could be in the middle of the night.

John was ripped out of his guessing when someone switched the lights on. Squinting hard at the sudden brightness, John looked up to see a masked figure coming towards him. A quick look around showed John that he was in a huge and empty basement vault.

“You seem to be awake. That’s good. We need a little help from you to send Mr. Holmes a message” John tensed at the tone of voice the man said that. The way he had said ‘help’ promised something bad for John.

“What do you need my help for?” John’s voice was steady but his heart had quickened its pace and was racing now.

“We need Mr. Holmes services, but we can’t have him slack off. The message is to keep him motivated” John gulped and clenched his left hand. If he could only move.

Another masked guy came into the large room, carrying a camcorder with him and a tripod. As he started to arrange it the first guy pulled out a long knife. John froze as he realized just what kind of message they were going to send Sherlock.

The guy with the knife cut John’s shirt open, sending the buttons scattering across the basement. John held his breath as the knife was dragged over his bare skin, leaving red streaks on it. Surely Sherlock would find him soon. There was nothing John could do to escape. He could only hope that Sherlock would find out where he was.

“I’m all set here. You can start anytime now” the guy with the camcorder stated emotionless.

“Good”

The knife was dragged over his skin again, but this time not only grazing it, but cutting through the layers of his skin until it drew blood. The cut wasn’t that deep but it led from his navel up to his collarbone. That wouldn’t need any stitches in order to heal. John told himself reassuringly, but his racing heart wouldn’t listen. Small streams of blood that quickly grew bigger ran down his upper body and down to his waistband.

“Where should I place the next one?” The first guy wondered aloud to himself.

The guy disposed of John’s shirt, looking it up and down before his eyes settled on Johns left arm.

The third cut was deeper. John hissed in pain and agony as the knife was stabbed in his shoulder. He closed his mouth firmly, gritting his teeth so that he wouldn’t make any more noises. John couldn’t bear the thought of Sherlock having to watch this and see the painful look on John’s face.

The stab wound wasn’t deep. The knife didn’t damage his bone. It was only superficial. John closed his eyes tightly as he tried to ignore the pain that pulsed through his arm.

John’s eyes flew open as the knife was turned around in the wound and he tried not to scream. Tried not to let Sherlock know how much it hurt. An anguished groan still managed to escape his lips. The guy chuckled and pulled the knife out a bit before he dragged it slopingly across John’s arm. Then he bent down to John’s ear.

“Don’t hold back. Let him hear you” he whispered wickedly, making John shiver in disgust. No, he wouldn’t scream. Blood was streaming down his left arm and dripping on the ground, building a small puddle. His belly was covered in blood.

Before John could make out which part of his body his torturer would attack next, he stood already besides the chair and rammed the knife in John’s leg.

This time, John did scream.


	6. Chapter 6

That night Sherlock hadn’t slept for a second. When the sun rose and its rays hit the inside of the flat, Sherlock had already drunk his fifth coffee and waited anxiously for the postman to arrive. When he did a few hours later, Sherlock rushed downstairs, almost falling over his own feet and snatched the mail away from the surprised postman. He quickly looked them through and threw everything except one brown envelope on the floor. It was a regular envelope, one you could buy in every store. Then he rushed back into the living room and tore it open.

Sherlock’s blood froze and his heart skipped a fearful beat at the content of it.

 A DVD.

There weren’t many possibilities for what could be on it if not John. In fact nothing feasible came to his mind. Sherlock opened John’s laptop and opened the disc slot after placing it on the table. He placed the DVD inside and with a slightly shaking hand he pressed play.

His sucked in his breath as he saw John tied to a chair and some masked guy with a knife beside him. Everything in Sherlock screamed to stop the video right away, but his body wouldn’t move. His eyes were glued to John’s body and the bloody streaks the knife left behind.

Sherlock clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. He needed to watch this. Perhaps there was something. Some sort of clue. Anything that could help him find John.

His eyes roamed over John’s pale face. It was almost more unbearable than to look at the wounds John was inflicted with. Sherlock could see that John tried not to let on how badly the guy hurt him. Could see how John gritted his teeth, so that no more pained noises could escape his lips. His brave John.

And then realization hit Sherlock. It was as if someone had punched him in the stomach. John had known! He had known that they would send the video to Sherlock. That was why John tried to stay quiet. Always caring John. Although he had been in such a horrifying situation, he still thought about Sherlock.

A pang of guilt washed through him.  It was his entire fault. No. Sherlock clenched his jaw. Now was not the time to wallow in assignments of guilt. But still-

John’s scream ripped him out of his useless thoughts. He went pale and his hands started to tremble once again. With horror-stricken eyes, Sherlock looked at John’s pain twisted face and then his eyes wandered towards the knife that stuck in his doctor’s leg.

Then the screen went black, but he could still see John’s face in his mind’s eye. These bastards should better be prepared or far, far away when Sherlock got there. Otherwise he could neither be old responsible nor guarantee for what he would do to them.

Caring wasn’t an advantage? Sherlock would do anything and use any means that were necessary to get his John back safely. Alive. Sherlock corrected himself grimly. It was out of the question that he wouldn’t be able to do so. Sherlock shuddered at the mere thought to have to continue living without John. It was the first time that Sherlock had felt something like that for another person. He couldn’t live without his work, without solving crimes but the thought of being alone had never bothered him before. Until John showed up.

Text appeared on the previous black screen. Sherlock snapped out of his thoughts and read.

_Dear Mr. Holmes, I hope my little message inspired you to dedicate the now following task your full attention. As you have noticed, I like riddles as do you. I don’t have much to live for and I welcomed this opportunity to ease my boredom. I’m sure you can understand that necessity to escape boredom._

_One of the few things I value is art and as it happened a few priceless pieces have been stolen from a museum. The list of the pieces will follow at the end of my short message._

_Retrieve them and I guarantee that the doctor will be returned safely (more or less). Good thing he is a doctor. As soon as his current state allows him, I’m sure he is willing to help us treat the wounds. Try to find were I hid him and he’ll die._

_. 'After the Derby' by J.Sanderson Wells_

_. 'Looking South from Near Red Brow Towards Rosthawaite' by John Constable_

_. 'Pond near Byfleet Surrey' by Sydney R Percy_

_I hope they are back where they belong soon._

Sherlock gaped in disbelief and rage. All that for a few useless paintings? Oh, how he wished he had a corpse to use his riding crop on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it so far! As far as I know these pieces are still listed as missing so report if you coincidentally stumble upon them ;P


	7. Chapter 7

When John regained his consciousness, the first thing he felt was a sharp, throbbing pain. The doctor took in a shaky breath and looked around to see if anyone was there before his hazy brain registered that he was consumed by darkness once again. With a shiver, John remembered how that man with the mask tortured him. His leg hurt so badly. John needed some light to see how bad the injury was. Probably pretty bad since he passed out from the pain but that didn’t mean that it was a severe wound. At least that was what John hoped as he tried not to panic once again.

They needed him alive. They needed him as leverage.

Sherlock.

John didn’t know for how long he had passed out. Perhaps by now Sherlock had seen the video. John felt sick from the thought alone. He didn’t want Sherlock to see the video. The poor doctor could only guess how Sherlock had reacted to it.

Would Sherlock blame himself? It wasn’t Sherlock’s fault but they had abducted him because they wanted something from Sherlock so it was possible that the consulting detective would blame himself. Was Sherlock furious that some people managed to snatch John away from him?

The good doctor didn’t want Sherlock to blame himself. Right now he wanted nothing more that to sit in their flat and watch some stupid television with Sherlock. Drink a nice cup of tea and watch with amusement when Sherlock would yell at the telly.

Sherlock.

A small smile played around John’s lips at that thought but it was quickly replaced with a painful expression as anguish took over his senses again. John groaned in agony and winced as the light was suddenly switched on.

“Good, you’re awake. I was starting to worry that he overdid it” a dark voice said and John could make out the man who’d filmed the whole thing as his eyes slowly adjusted to the brightness.

“He certainly overdid it” John chocked out angrily between gritted teeth as he looked down at his leg. His jeans were partly drenched in blood.

“How long was I out?”

“Only a few hours” Footsteps approached him and John looked up. The masked man carried a first aid kit with him.

“I brought a first aid kit. Can you take care of these wounds yourself or...” the man trailed off, not finishing the sentence but his voice grew insecure. It was fairly obvious that he wasn’t agog to stitch John up. The poor doctor would have smiled over that if his bloody leg wouldn’t have hurt that much. That man didn’t seem that bad and John was glad that he was to one who came. He sure as hell didn’t want the other one come near him again.

“Are there any painkillers in there?” John asked hopefully.

“No, but I brought some with me”

“Then I think I’ll be able to stitch the wound up myself. But you’ll have to take care of the one on my shoulder”

“O-okay” John was sure that the man had grown pretty pale although he couldn’t be sure with the mask he was wearing. How much did they pay the man for that?

 

He gave the man instructions while he stitched up the wound on his arm with shaky hands. The painkillers were helpful but they weren’t strong enough to wipe out the pain completely. Nevertheless, John was thankful that his abductor had brought them.

Hopefully Sherlock would come for him soon, John thought as he took care of the wound on his leg.  The stitches weren't perfect but they would do for now, at least until Sherlock would find him. He had to apologies to Sherlock for yelling at him and he had said some pretty mean things as well. He had deliberately tried to hurt Sherlock back then. John couldn't die here before he had apologized for that and told Sherlock how grateful he was for being able to be by his side.


	8. Chapter 8

It had taken Sherlock two whole days to track the paintings down but now he finally held the last missing piece in his hands. He had no thing for art. It could burn for all he cared and he couldn’t understand how people were willing to pay so much for these things.

Sherlock had dark circles under his eyes from the lack of sleep and the exhaustion from running around the city. He had lost count of the cups of coffee he had consumed and the nicotine patches he had plastered on his arms in the last two days.

The abductors hadn’t sent another message. Sherlock didn’t know if John was alright or even alive. He clutched the frame of the painting so hard that his knuckles turned white. No, they John was still alive! Sherlock was sure, wanted to believe that John was still breathing and waiting for him.

While he had searched for the paintings, Sherlock had thought about the note and the DVD. Something hadn’t been right. First there was the riddle, a far too easy one. The ‘let’s start easy’ didn’t fit. Because there hadn’t been another code or anything. It had been too easy. The consulting detective almost hadn’t noticed, engulfed in worrying about John and preoccupied with solving his task.

Of course Sherlock had noticed in the end. Just not right away. The riddle had been a diversion.  Supposed to substantiate what the abductor had said about himself in the DVD. It was a clever plan, but Sherlock had seen through it. Now he finally held prove to it in his hands.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. A dark smile, promising vengeance. Sherlock would’ve been thrilled to work on this case in any other situation. It was a clever plan. The most evident mistake the criminal had made was to take his John away from him and hurt him. Even dared to send him a video of it!

The smile vanished and was replaced by a odium look on the consulting detectives face. Oh, the things he wanted to do to that person! He pressed his lips together fiercely. 

Sherlock looked at the _'After the Derby' by J.Sanderson Wells_ intensely. It looked just like any other watercolour painting to him. He turned it around and examined the frame until he found what he had been looking for. John wouldn’t have to wait much longer. Sherlock would come to his rescue soon.

There was a small opening in the wooden frame. A SD-Card was stuck in it. It was nicely placed. No one would notice it if they weren’t looking for something. That told Sherlock more than enough. He already deduced most of the things but with this last bit of information he could get his hands on the criminal’s name.

The guy had to work or own the museum. Maybe he was the chief there. Probably the later because he was obviously rich and influential enough to pay professional kidnappers and get so much information about Sherlock.

Moreover, the guy had to be sure that he was the first one who’d get the painting in his hands after its return. That meant he was the chief of the museum or some guy who verified the pieces authenticity. No, if he wasn’t in charge of the museum than he couldn’t be sure to be able to remove the card before someone else took a closer look at the painting.

Sherlock turned around and stepped over the guy who had guarded the painting. He had taken the guy by surprise and knocked him out.

After he had left the building, Sherlock hailed a cab and told the driver to get him to Baker Street. The cabbie glanced at him through the rearview r now and then. The consulting detective probably looked suspicious to him with the painting. Hopefully he wouldn’t call the police. That was the last Sherlock needed right now. Being hindered by the police. He had no time for that. The sooner he held John securely in his arms the better.  

The consulting detective had realized through these two long days that he felt so much more for John than he had ever felt for anything before. Even more than his work it seemed, since Sherlock didn’t enjoy the rush of this case. He wasn’t sure how he should handle these feelings. He had never been good with emotions. But he concluded that it was best to just accept them until he got John back. After that there was still more than enough time to sort out these confusing feelings.

Throughout the whole drive, Sherlock stared at the painting, his fingers twitching with the urge to find out what the card contained. When they reached his flat he paid and rushed inside the house and into the living room, where he opened the laptop and fumbled to get the card out of the small opening.

About ten minutes later he heard the stairs creaking. Mycroft had arrived. Of course his dear brother knew that Sherlock had found something. Perhaps he even worried what Sherlock would do to the guy once he knew his identity.

Sherlock had looked through the files that were on the card by now and he was pleased by his findings but they had only made his wrath grow further, if that was even possible. To know that his John had to suffer because of Alexander Birch’s illegal activities. He would crush the guy. His face darkened at the mere thought of Alexander Birch. That bastard!

“Ah, Mycroft. Good to see you. I require your assistance” Sherlock tried to make a neutral face as he turned around to look as his brother. Mycroft was slightly out of breath. It seemed he had rushed here, his jacket wasn’t fully buttoned. Sherlock’s raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. It was rare to see Mycroft like that. His brother cared enough about John to not notice that he wasn’t perfectly dressed.

Two hours later Sherlock knocked at Alexander Birch’s door. Some time passed and Sherlock grew more and more impatient. Finally the door opened and the man he hated most at the moment himself stood in the doorway.

Alexander’s eyes widened at he realized who stood there but it was already too late. Sherlock’s fist connected with the bastard’s nose and made a cracking sound. He deserved so much more than just a broken nose. Sherlock bend down, grabbed the whimpering man by the hem of his shirt and hauled him into the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it always takes so long for me to post new chapters. It's actually already uploaded further on other sites =P but I had a bit of a writers block and an awful lot of school work to do and I didn't want it to stagnate here on the latest chapter as well. Now it's almost finished so the uploads should be coming along more frequently now. There will be about twelve chapters in total  
> Have a lovely day! =)


	9. Chapter 9

Drops of blood led from the doorway into the wide corridor. Sherlock bent over Birch’s quivering body. He had a broken nose, drenching his shirt in blood and dripping on the white marble floor. That would make it easy to wipe them away.

The consulting detective rummaged through the bastard’s pockets until he found the mobile phone and stowed it in his coat. Destroying it was out of the question. It was still needed to call Birch’s men and tell them to get away from John.

Sherlock then proceeded to drag Birch further into the house, closed the front door behind them and stepped accidentally or not so accidentally on the man’s hand which earned him a short yelp from Birch. The sound was pleasant to Sherlock’s ears.

“Where is John?” he growled at the terrified looking man. He crouched beside Birch, his hands clenched to fists as he tried to ignore the urge to punch that disgusting face again. As he got no answer he repeated his question, more irately this time.

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Birch stuttered, eyes wide with fear as he stared at the consulting detective. The hallway was empty except for a few expensive looking paintings on the wall. A stairway opposite of Sherlock’s position led down into a wine cellar he presumed.

“For your own well-being I advise you to not play dumb. You should know what I’m capable of since you were the one who consulted and observed me” Sherlock’s voice grew low as he spoke, a clear threat lingering in it.

How badly he wanted to hurt Birch. His fingers twitched with the need to lay hand on that bastard. It would be easy to destroy any evidence that he had been here as would be disposing of the body.

It was quite an alluring possibility but Sherlock would never do it. He couldn’t do it. Not because he thought it was horrible. Because John wouldn’t want him to do it. He couldn’t bear to disappoint John again. The sheer thought of those brown eyes looking at Sherlock, hurt and frustrated made him feel cold all over, his heart clenched painfully together. 

The doctor had killed for him before but that was to save his life from imminent danger. Too bad this didn’t count as imminent danger.  Sherlock mused but quickly returned his attention to Birch as he began to speak.

“I’ll tell you if you let me go” Birch tried to sound convinced and self-confident. One could tell from his tone of voice that he was used to order people around without being disobeyed. Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

“I believe that you’re in no position to make demands. What should keep me from killing you right now if you don’t tell me immediately where John is held? I’d find out eventually, with or without you telling me. Then let me formulate it like this. Tell me where John is or you’ll have no time to regret not having told me or a lot of time while begging me to end this quickly. What shall it be?” Sherlock had placed his foot on top of Birch’s hand and slowly added more and more pressure as he said that. Birch made a high pitched noise and tried to remove Sherlock’s foot with his free hand.

“Stop! I’ll tell you! He’s in the basement vault of an empty factory” Birch told him the address. It wasn’t that far away. About twenty minutes if he took a cab. Less if he got one of Mycroft’s cars. The driver wouldn’t need to worry about being fined.

“Good. Now phone your people and tell them to leave the building” Birch nodded timidly as Sherlock gave him the phone.

“Say anything superfluous and. Well, I guess your imagination is vivid enough to picture what I could do to you” By no means did Sherlock have any intention to let Birch’s henchmen go. He simply didn’t want any unnecessary interruptions when fetching John. It would be easy enough to find out their identities later on.

Sherlock quickly texted his brother to send a car over after Birch called his man.

“So you’re letting me go now, Mr. Holmes? I told you everything” Sherlock gave him a cheesy smile and a hopeful look appeared on Birch’s features.

“There’s still plenty of time until my lift gets here” Birch’s hopeful look died away as quickly as it had come, replaced yet again with a shocked and frightened expression as Sherlock pushed Birch with a powerful thrust of his foot over the edge of the stairway.

Ten minutes later a black car held in front of the door and Sherlock got inside, slamming the door shut and telling the driver the address. The driver ignored most of the traffic lights. Sherlock pulled out his phone and texted Mycroft.

_Birch needs medical treatment. Fell down a few stairs. –SH_

_Still alive? –MH_

_Yes. You can take care of his conviction now. –SH_

_Not sure if that can be done right away. I presume he needs to stay in a hospital for some months first. –MH_

_Probably. I think some of his bones are broken.  –SH_

When the car finally stopped in front of the factory Sherlock told the driver to wait for him to come back with John and ran inside the building. His heart beat anxious anticipation. He didn’t want to see the injuries on John’s body. He didn’t want to see a hurt John yet there was nothing he wanted more than to see him again.

With a trembling hand Sherlock pushed the door that led to the basement vault open and stopping for a split second, fear-struck, before his feet started to move again. John was tied to a chair in the middle of the room. He seemed to be asleep, his head was lowered to his chest.

Sherlock knelt down in front of John and extended one hand to feel his pulse. The consulting detective let out the air he hadn’t noticed he had held as he felt John’s weak but steady pulse. He moved his still trembling hand to caress the doctor’s face, endlessly relieved that John was no longer out of his reach.

“John. It’s all right. I came for you” Sherlock’s voice didn’t sound as steady or reassuring as he wanted it to but that didn’t matter at the moment. All that mattered to him right now was in front of him and still breathing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally reunited! Hope you enjoyed it so far and feel free to point out any grammar mistakes.  
> Though it's a bit early to say this; I wish all of you a happy valentines day! Made a heap of pralines and now I don't want to see any chocolate for the next few days because I tasted so much while making them


	10. Chapter 10

The skin felt hot against Sherlock’s cold hands. Possibly a fever. With this kind of injury and the not so wholesome environment they had kept him. His eyes moved to John’s blood stained shirt and the wounds that were all too visible. An angry red, blood smeared stripe against his unusual pale skin.

John eyelids fluttered open and for a split second Sherlock wondered if he should withdraw his hand that was still grazing John’s cheek, but he didn’t want to. Sherlock didn’t want to let go of what he had finally gotten a hold of. The idea of letting go of his doctor didn’t seem right to Sherlock, it filled him with discomfort and uneasiness.

John’s eyes were unfocused at first before widening in pleasant surprise, the corners of his mouth turning up into a glad but tired smile. With his free hand Sherlock pulled out the knife he had seen on his way down and put into his pocket. There was still some blood on it. Sherlock felt sick at the fact that he held a knife with John’s blood on it in his hands.

John’s eyes followed his gaze and flinched when he saw that the consulting detective held the weapon that caused him so much pain. Sherlock hurried to move it out of John’s field of vision, angry at himself for being stupid enough to let the doctor see it and started to cut through the ropes, careful not to hurt John in the process.

“It’s all right. I won’t let you get hurt again, John” his voice was slightly shaking, though he tried not to let John hear how enraged and worried he was.

Nothing was all right. Sherlock had let John get hurt. He would never be able to forgive himself for that. 

John noticed. Of course he did after getting to know Sherlock so well and leaned into the hand lingering on his cheek. No, John had surely only done that because of the comfortable coolness of his hand,  Sherlock tried to convince himself as warmth flooded through his body at this gesture. It made his mind slow down, busy analyzing the feeling of his flat mate’s skin against his.

The knife severed the rope that had left bruises on the good doctor’s wrists and he sagged forward as he hadn’t paid further attention to what Sherlock was doing with the knife because he had got distracted by the Sherlock’s worried tone and the self blame he thought had swung in it. John had wanted to say something soothing to Sherlock but wasn’t sure he could trust his voice just yet. He was still in pain and didn’t want Sherlock to reproach himself any more than he already did.

The consulting detective had expected for John to fall forward and caught him, accidentally bumping against the hurt shoulder and John hissed painfully.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you” Sherlock hurried to say dreadfully guilt-ridden. He should have paid more attention. Stupid! He couldn’t think clearly anymore. Now was not the time to get distracted by their closeness. It had never been a problem before.

Why didn’t John say anything? Was he more hurt than Sherlock had presumed? Worry nagged at the back of his mind, eating up every calm thought that tried to from inside of Sherlock’s head.

Just as Sherlock opened his mouth to ask why John wasn’t saying anything, the doctor turned his head that leaned against Sherlock’s shoulder to look at the consulting detective’s pale and troubled looking face.

“I knew you’d find me” his voice was hoarse and weak, scaring Sherlock more than he would ever admit because John always sounded so strong. He instinctively moved his hand that had cut the ropes after letting go of the knife and brought it to John’s back, turning their positions into an awkward hug.

Sherlock was overextended with this situation. He didn’t know what to do, but hugging John felt like the right thing to do. He put his other hand at John’s neck, pressing him protectively against him. It was nice to feel John so close against him. His hot breath against his neck and his quick heartbeat. Feeling that he was alive and safe.

“It’s my fault you got hurt, John. I- if they’d killed you, I don’t know what I would do” Sherlock stammered, uncertain how to express his feelings. This had never really been his area. But he wanted, no, he needed to tell him.

“I know. You’d be lost without your blogger” John chuckled flimsily against Sherlock’s shoulder, sending a shiver down the consulting detective’s spine. He frowned, not feeling like joking about this. He meant what he had said.

“Yes, I’d be lost without you” Sherlock said earnestly because he wanted John to know that he wholeheartedly felt that way. The good doctor looked up at the seriousness of Sherlock’s words and there was a long moment of silence in which neither of them knew what to do next.

With each second that past Sherlock grew more and more flustered and tense. He hadn’t said anything wrong, had he? Had this been inappropriate? But he had meant every word of it. The consulting detective pondered frantically how he could somehow end this awkward silence.

Just as he opened his mouth to say anything at all John broke the silence, clearing his throat loudly.

“Yes- That- I mean, I’d be as well. I would be lost without you too” He said clumsily. Sherlock’s heart doubled its pace and he could feel his face heating up although there was absolutely no reason for him to react like that. Or at least he tried to tell himself that, but when he saw that John’s ears turned red and a blush made its way to his cheeks he only grew more flustered.

Red. That reminded him of something…something important…John’s injuries!

“John, are you alright? Do you feel dizzy? We should take you to a hospital right away! Are you in much pain?” Sherlock hastened to ask John who flinched, startled by Sherlock’s sudden outburst. How could he let himself get distracted like that again? First they had to take care of John’s wounds, then they could dwell on their reunion, Sherlock scolded himself.

The questions had sputtered so fast from the consulting detective’s lips that John’s mind, still hazy and slow from the pain had trouble following. It took him a few moments to answer in which Sherlock started to fumble with the remains of John’s shirt and began to examine the wounds.

“Yes, I’m all right at the moment. The wounds are all stitched up” John started while the consulting detective ran his fingers carefully over the long red mark on his chest, shuddering at the touch, “No need for a hospital. I just want to go home with you. Have a cup of coffee and then sleep in my bed.” Sherlock sighed in relief at that. If John said there was no need to go to a hospital he trusted him with that, he was a doctor after all and the thought of taking John back home with him was far more pleasant than to see him lying in a hospital bed.


	11. Chapter 11

The sight of John staggering while he clung to Sherlock as they made their way outside made the consulting detective wish there was still one of the kidnappers left he could vent the fury he felt on. By now Mycroft had surely already secured Birch and taken care of his wounds. Hopefully they would take a very long time to heal. Sherlock pursed his lips at the thought of that man in disgust.

One hand wrapped tightly around John’s back they slowly ascended the stairs. His gray eyes were on John the whole time, though he was trying not to look at the wounds all over John’s body. He couldn’t stand to look at them.

It was his fault they were there. 

John stopped when they stepped outside into the sunlight, drawing in one ragged breath. Most of his weight weighted on Sherlock and he was glad for that in one way. It made it feel more real that John was back at his side.

“I never thought it could be so nice,” John began looking up at the sky, squinting his bloodshot eyes at its brightness “to feel the sun on my skin”

 Sherlock didn’t know what to reply and instead tightened his grip around John’s waist. The car stood there waiting to take them back home. In that moment Sherlock was glad for Mycroft’s men. They wouldn’t ask questions or urge him to take John to the hospital because Sherlock was too exhausted to deal with an annoying cabbie or any of that sort right now. All he wanted was to bring his doctor back to their flat and don’t leave him out of his sight ever again.

 

Through the whole ride to Baker Street John’s head rested on his shoulder, his hot forehead slightly touching Sherlock’s neck. The consulting detective was certain that John wasn’t asleep but no one said a word. And when they finally reached their flat John moved back into an upright position so that Sherlock could step out of the car and help John do the same. The way up the stairs was tricky and John grunted in pain when he had to put pressure on his injured leg. Sherlock tried to ignore the lump that formed in his throat every time he heard it in the, apart from John’s hard breathing, quiet flat.

Leading John to his favourite armchair Sherlock studied the pale face once again. There were dark circles under his eyes, a bit sweat glistening on his skin, stubbles on his chin from not shaving in the last few days.

“I’ll get you some painkillers” Sherlock hurried off to get them and a glass of water after John was seated and his hurt leg positioned on the table. When he returned John gave him a weak nod of appreciation before taking them.

 Sherlock felt the urge to bend down and wrap John in his arms tightly and never let go of him again just to ensure that no one would ever take John away from him again. The consulting detective blinked as if that would help to get these thoughts out of his head, but they were stuck there. If anything the desire to do so just became more urgent. His body felt like a magnet being drawn to John.

He bend over towards John, but instead of doing what every fiber of his body screamed for he took the now empty glass out of John’s shaky hands, his fingers touching the doctors and hurried into the kitchen to put it into the sink. He remained there for a few seconds trying to bring this emotion under control. It was completely and utterly irrational. Sherlock frowned and stared at the hand that had held the glass. He felt an odd sensation lingering where he had brushed John’s fingers.

 “Sherlock?” John asked when the seconds kept ticking by and Sherlock’s body moved of his own accord when he sensed a hint of panic in John’s voice, his discovery cast aside for the moment.

“What’s wrong?” he asked almost breathlessly, rushing back into the living room.

“No. Nothing. I- it’s just. Sorry” John stuttered and sighed, moving his hand over his face “You didn’t come back and I just- it’s stupid really”

“No, it’s all right,” Sherlock said reassuringly, his voice unusually soft “I’m here and I won’t go anywhere” he sat down in the armchair opposite of John and his blue eyes moved to look at him. Neither of them said anything. They just looked at each other, enjoying the reality of sitting together in their flat, still alive and just there, together.

 “How did you find me?”  John broke the silence.

“After you-“Sherlock cleared his throat awkwardly “After they kidnapped you and destroyed your mobile phone Mycroft called me and told me that the tracking device in it stopped working I went to its last location”

“Mycroft had a tracking device in my mobile” John pinched the bridge of his nose “No, of course he had” he shook his head in exasperation.

“After I got there I found a note with a riddle, telling me that if I wanted you back safely I’d have to do what they wanted and wait for the next message” Sherlock paused and took in a deep breath, remembering vividly all the details of what followed.

“The following day I got a DVD with- you know” Sherlock gestured towards John and the doctor twitched involuntarily “At the end of it there was another message in which the criminal told me that he wants me to find some paintings that were stolen. Purely out of boredom and his deep passion for art as he wanted to let me believe” he scoffed, temper rising. There was another pause before Sherlock carried on, voice calmer ”But of course that wasn’t his real reason”

“No?” John interrupted in a joking manner, raising an eyebrow. Without a doubt a feeble attempt to lighten the mood. He looked as tense as Sherlock felt. The consulting detective shook his head.

“No. The outlines of the plan were clever but its execution was done poorly. The riddle at the beginning had a promise of more puzzles and wit to follow, but no more came after it. So clearly that was the best he could come up with” His grey eyes flickered over John quickly, taking in every detail Sherlock could grasp to see if it was all right to proceed with his explanation or if it would be wiser to wait until John had rested a while. Surely he’d tell Sherlock if he wanted him to stop.

“Obviously his attempt to deceive me failed. After I had realized that he had tried to create a false identity through the messages the rest was quite easy to figure out” John frowned at him and gave Sherlock his ‘you know perfectly well that it’s not obvious to me so care to explain’  face. Despite the current situation a smile tugged at the corner of Sherlock’s mouth. Even when being dead tired and probably aching all over John, amazing John still had the patience to listen to Sherlock’s elaborate explanation without snapping at him.

Something was nagging at the back of Sherlock’s mind. That sort of nagging when he missed something he should have noticed right away. The smile died away when the reason of it slowly, much too slowly dawned to him and at the same time hitting him like a bucket of cold water. It wasn’t only John’s friendly nature that kept him awake in his chair, listening to Sherlock explain how he solved the case. Nor was it his curiosity. No. There was another reason.

John wanted to stay awake.

For the cause to that Sherlock could only guess. Once again the consulting detective blamed his lack of knowledge in the particular areas involving people and their feelings. Empathy was one of the things Sherlock sometimes wished he had when being with John.

Did John dread the nightmares would return after his torture? After the first few months John had spend in Baker Street, the nights when he’d woken up drenched in sweat had sharply decreased Sherlock had noticed and felt proud at the possibility that he had been the reason for that recovery. The consulting detective wasn’t entirely sure why John wanted to stay awake. He felt horrible that he hadn’t realized sooner that John was bothered by the thought of going to sleep.

People had all rights to call him names when he had been so preoccupied with himself that he had neglected John and not considered the effects the kidnapping and torture would have on John.

“Sherlock. Sherlock?” said consulting detective looked up “You going to continue?”

Sherlock nodded. “If he wasn’t as clever as he wanted to make me believe there had to be something about those paintings he wanted to cover up, something he did not want me to notice. I did some research about the paintings but there was nothing unusual there. Forgeries wouldn’t justify all that trouble so it had to be something else. Probably something he hid inside the paintings or their frames and it had to be something he needed back. Either because it was valuable or something illegal that could be traced back to him” John listened intensely but he wouldn’t be able to fight the tiredness much longer by the looks of it.

“I was proved right when I found the last painting, the other two were just there to diverse me from the SD-Card hidden inside the frame. By then I’d already been fairly sure who he was and the SD-Card confirmed my deduction. Birch was in charge of the museum the painting belonged to. That means he could be sure to be the first person to see the painting and remove it before someone else could notice. The SD-Card was full of illegal transactions. Mycroft is currently taking care of Birch and making sure that he won’t see the daylight again for a very long time” Sherlock finished hurriedly, already standing up and moving over to John who was pretty much already half-asleep.

“And I do believe it’s time you go to sleep unless you want to fall asleep in your armchair”

“I’m not really tired yet” John said stubbornly, well aware that this wasn’t fooling Sherlock.

“Why don’t you want to sleep? Are you afraid of nightmares?” Sherlock wasn’t sure how to approach the topic best so he went with just being straight forward.

“No, that’s- that’s not it” John said, fidgeting in his seat and looking everywhere but Sherlock. Sherlock waited patiently for John to go on.

“I’m afraid that if I wake up and think that I’m still there. That you didn’t come” Sherlock was speechless for a moment, a weird feeling nesting at the pit of his stomach. He bent down and tugged at John’s hand lightly, letting him know that he wanted to help him get up.

“Fine. I’ll sleep with you in your bed. If you wake up in the middle of the night I’ll be right beside you”

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SOOOOO SORRY!!!  
> I accidentally uploaded this as chapter 11 previously! you can all go and thank badwolf5225 for telling me I posted the same chapter twice or I'd never have noticed and you'd never be able to read the real 11th chapter  
> 

The alarm clock on the bedside table ticked obscenely loud in the silence that lay upon the room. The moon shed its light through the small space between the shut curtains. Sherlock had stopped counting the seconds after a while. Even a boring occupation such as that didn’t help him fall asleep. How could people honestly believe that something like that could help?  He had even gone so far as to replace the seconds with sheep. The consulting detective had still been wide awake after the five hundred and fifty ninth sheep.

The sleep which he needed so badly just wouldn’t come. Although he’d barely slept the last few days. Not while John had still been somewhere out there and the crime hadn’t been solved, the criminals not been caught.

Now all these tasks were completed successfully, yet Sherlock was still unable to find any sleep.

He had no clue how he’d gotten into this situation. Well, he did know, after all this had been his idea. A perfectly reasonable, logical idea, but the current situation he found himself in hadn’t been a part of it. Namely lying awake with his heart racing at an alarmingly quick pace and another problem.

Sherlock shifted slightly into a more comfortable position. Not that he wasn’t comfortable with John lying beside him. The opposite was the case. The heat which radiated from John’s body was quite pleasant and reassuring. The feeling of his body so close beside him.  Much too close at the moment.

Somewhere over the last few hours John had thrown his arm over Sherlock’s body and snuggled up. Sherlock had just fallen in a light slumber but the unfamiliar feeling of another body so close to his own had jerked him awake right away. From then on it had all went awry.

What followed had been a completely normal reaction for a human being. Sherlock snorted. As hard at is was to admit but this betrayal of his body hurt his pride. To not be able to control his body thoroughly was annoying and irksome. The human body really was a stupid thing! Primarily the lower regions of it. Which were pointedly demonstrating him at the moment that he wasn’t above these things (pun intended).

Of course Sherlock could simply explain and dismiss his little problem with the argument that this reaction could be expected when the subject, in this case he, had gone for years without any pleasuring stimuli through direct contact of any kind. That went for his fast pounding heart as well.  

It still was irritating. Moreover because it didn’t seem as if his problem would go away anytime soon. Not if the last one and a half hours were anything to go by. And it was getting increasingly uncomfortable.

The best course of action would be to stand up, go into the bathroom and take care of it. There were only two problems hindering him. First was the fact that John was still laying half on top of him. If Sherlock would try to get up the risk of waking John up was high. What should he say then? “Sorry John, I just need to go jerk off because I got an erection from your close proximity”? Even Sherlock knew that that was very definitely not appropriate. He could lie, but he the chances were high that John would see right through it. The doctor had become far too good at reading Sherlock.

The second thing was that even if John didn’t wake up when Sherlock got out of the bed there was the chance that John would wake up while Sherlock was in the bathroom and he’d promised John to be at his side should he wake up. Under no circumstances did Sherlock want to break that promise. Not with John being in the condition he currently was in.

Sherlock scowled. It seemed that there was no sufficient plan to resolve this situation. He could only hope that it would eventually go away or that he’d fall asleep. Though this hadn’t been the case so far.

 

 

The bright light of the morning sun shone through the small gap between the curtains. John blinked tiredly against the brightness. He still felt sore all over and the cuts stung far too noticeable, making it impossible to fall asleep again. Still, he closed his eyes again, not yet wanting to stand up.

His body needed more rest. No nightmares had disturbed his night’s sleep. Perhaps his body had been too worn out to torment him with any.

Something moved next to him. John froze in shock and his eyes snapped open, heart racing. He turned his head to see what it was. His body was tense, senses on alert and ready to react to any kind of threat.  

A black mob of unruly, curly hair pocked out from underneath the bed sheets. John blinked, not sure if he was seeing correctly. There was no mistake. He could feel his face heating up and his heartbeat continued to race but now for an entirely different reason.

Sherlock bloody Holmes was lying in his bed!

The memory of last night’s events slowly returned. Of course there was a logical reason for this. Otherwise there’d be no way something like this would ever happen. He sighed heavily. 

John was torn between getting out of bed as fast as possible to bring some distance between their dangerous closeness and just stay where he was, more or less snuggled up to the consulting detective. The parts where their bodies touched were hot and he was all too aware of the increasing desire to feel Sherlock.

When Sherlock had come to his rescue the previous day the body contact had been no problem for him. He had been more or less unconscious by then and the fever had made sure that he couldn’t focus properly. Beside that John had been far too relieved to be at Sherlock’s side again and no longer at the mercy of his kidnappers, to be safe and out of danger.

Now he was back at the flat and by the time Sherlock would wake up everything would return back to normal. His wounds would heal within a month’s time and only scars and nightmares would be left. It was better to end this bittersweet torture of being this close to Sherlock. Beside he was too afraid of what Sherlock might deduce when he woke up while John was still here because his attraction must be clearly visible.

So he did the only reasonable thing and stood up, carefully not to stir Sherlock. Swaying slightly he made his way downstairs, deciding that he’d get dressed later when Sherlock was awake. John was sure that Sherlock needed the sleep just as much as he did. 

It was a miracle that the consulting detective hadn’t noticed John’s feelings by now, otherwise he would surely have said something about how he was married to his work.  John had tried to get rid of his feelings by dating women. After that to distract himself but no matter who John dated it didn’t really help.

Sighing heavily once more, John fetched a few painkillers from the bathroom and hoped that they’d numb his feelings for Sherlock along with the pain from his wounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's the last to update their story? Yes, that right, it's me >_


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies again for the inconvenience I caused and for which you all deserve something nice XD  
> you don't have to wait two weeks before you get the next chapter XP

Blinking against the bright sunlight, Sherlock thought back to last night’s events. That had been rather unpleasant. In the future he had to make sure that his body wouldn’t disturb him with such malfunctions. More so at times when he could do nothing take care of them.

Sometime he must have fallen asleep, obviously, which he was grateful for. If John had noticed he would surely feel awkward and uncomfortable around Sherlock.

The consulting detective turned his head sideways and bolded upright when he saw that the bed beside him was empty. Although it should be nothing to worry about, panic flared up inside him. The most logical explanation for that was that John had simply woken up before him and then proceeded to go downstairs. And out of kindness letting Sherlock remain asleep. But he still felt uncomfortable not seeing John, not knowing precisely where he was.

Maybe he had surmised it. Maybe it had been a dream. The thought hit him unexpectedly and Sherlock paled.

No. He knew that John was safe and not in any kind of danger anymore, but Sherlock had to see him. Right this instant. He had to see him with his own eyes.

 It was an unpleasant feeling for Sherlock that he couldn’t rely on his mind. It reminded him of Baskerville, but he hadn’t taken any drugs so there was no reason to question his deduction that John was at their flat. Yet the thought that, as improbable as it was, kept nagging at the back of his head.

In a matter of seconds Sherlock made his way out of the room and down the stairs, stopping at the kitchen door. There he was, sitting at the kitchen table and drinking his tea. Sherlock let go of the breath he hadn’t noticed holding, heart rate slowly returning to its normal pace.

Stupid! Of course John was here. Sherlock scowled irksomely at his needless overreaction before stepping inside.

“You could have woken me up” Sherlock greeted John in a way he hoped sounded nonchalant. John twitched almost unnoticeable and Sherlock made a note that he’d have to move around louder than usual for the next because John was obviously still easily startled and his body on alert.

“Morning Sherlock” John smiled tiredly “It’s such a rare opportunity to see you actually asleep that I didn’t want to” That John was sure Sherlock hadn’t rested for the last couple of days remained unspoken.

Sherlock stepped closer, looking John up. He still looked feverish. Before he gave his action a second thought Sherlock put his palm, on John’s forehead. He could hear John suck in his breath sharply in surprise and tensing ever so slightly.

So much to trying not to startle John.

All of a sudden Sherlock became deucedly aware of their close proximity. John’s warmth seeping into his cool skin, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips, cheeks flushed. Last night events, or rather his body’s reactions came to his mind and hastily he brought some distance between them, pulling his hand away.

“You still have a fever. Rest”

“Thanks Sherlock, but you’re aware I’m a doctor. I know how to handle a fever” John waved his hand, indicating that Sherlock was making a big deal out of it.

“Alright. I’m making tea for you, so why don’t you go and let your brain cells get eliminated by some crappy telly” John nodded, already turning to leave the kitchen “John, your face is redder than it was yesterday. Sure it didn’t go up?”

The doctor didn’t turn around again, but Sherlock could hear him mutter “Not from the fever, you git” Sherlock frowned. This wasn’t like John at all to react like that. Had he said something wrong? He pondered while getting the kettle ready.

 Oh, stupid, stupid, stupid! Of course John had been paler yesterday, blood loss and shock. And it was quite possible that Sherlock’s remark had triggered memories.

If he evaluated the four possibilities, that was the only reasonable one. John had denied that his fever had risen. It wasn’t nearly hot enough in their flat to cause John’s cheek’s to heat up. The only other explanation would be that something caused John to blush. His stomach fluttered at that thought, but he quickly dismissed it. He could have seen wrong. There was no reason for John to blush under Sherlock’s touch.  That was just wishful thinking.

Sherlock frowned and stared his hand. He felt an odd sensation lingering where he had touched John’s forehead. Trying to shake the feeling off he rummaged through the cupboard in search for an herb tea.

Out of the blue realization hit him and his hand faltered in its movement, his mouth forming the shape of an ‘oh’, just like he did when the solution of a case suddenly struck him.

No. This couldn’t be. He, Sherlock Holmes, didn’t fall in love. It simply could not be. He was incapable of it! But his body told him otherwise. And all the clues came to his mind, fitting together like a puzzle. It was the only conclusion. And once the impossible is eliminated, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.

He turned his head to catch a glance at John sitting in the living room, oblivious to Sherlock’s discovery and his heart quickened its pace. He had looked at John so many times, stared at him for hours so this shouldn’t feel any different but it did. Sherlock didn’t have enough data, so he couldn’t know for sure if the realization caused his perspective to change and reinforce his reactions. Make them more visible (you mean like last night?).

Maybe he had felt like that all along but not noticed because emotions just weren’t his area and he neglected his body all the time. Ignoring its needs as long as possible. Or maybe because John had constantly been by his side like when one feels hungry for a long time and doesn’t notice until the moment when one does and then it becomes impossible to ignore it any longer.

Sherlock had to admit that his comparison lacked but now was not the time to ponder over his feelings for John. It had to wait until John was alright.

Putting the teabags into the cups and pouring hot water over them, Sherlock tried to calm down before entering the living room. He couldn’t let his emotions get the better of him. They had done so enough in the last few days.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is more or less finished and it'll be a longer one for a change. I'll try uploading it today, after school

The pain had mostly subsided due to the painkillers, only a constant throbbing reminded John of his wounds. Some soap was on the telly, but the good doctor wasn’t paying attention to it. Though John looked at the screen, he only saw the flickering movement of the figures, too caught up in his own thoughts to listen to it.

Sherlock had flung himself onto the couch. At the beginning he had scoffed at the people on screen, making brickbat remarks and taking apart the plot and pointing out it flaws, even then Sherlock’s appalled incredulousness over all that dullness had been missing. Halfway through the show Sherlock had fallen silent and started to get fidgety, while practically staring a hole through John, who was sitting in his armchair.

This behavior wouldn’t alarm John, would it not be for the fact that something had been off about the consulting detective since he had come back from the kitchen. When Sherlock had given him a cup of tea, he had looked everywhere but at John.

It was quite possible that Sherlock heard what John had muttered when he had left the kitchen earlier and that thought made his stomach turn. The chance that Sherlock had figured everything out left John anxious, afraid that his feelings had been discovered and hence Sherlock’s weird behavior. He hadn’t said a single word to John during the last half hour. And John didn’t dare ask what was wrong. Why did he have to go and say something stupid like that?

When Sherlock had put his hand on John’s forehead he thought he might go into cardiac arrest. Over the time he’s lived with Sherlock, the consulting detective had often enough done the most unexpected things. And this action would definitely get on the list of such things, right next to Sherlock’s awkward hug in the basement.

He shifted uncomfortably in his armchair, grimacing when the wound on his leg made itself known despite the pain killers. It had been more than just difficult to get downstairs this morning without help, but John had managed somehow.

“Does it hurt much?” Sherlock’s question surprised John and he looked over to the figure lying on the couch.

“It’s alright, but I need to check the wounds. Disinfect them again” John pondered a moment over his next words. “Could you help me remove my pajama so I can take a look at them?” John didn’t really have any other choice than to ask Sherlock for help. The wounds needed to be checked. He’d rather avoid any infections. So for now John would just have to cling onto his hope that Sherlock hadn’t worked his attraction towards named consulting detective out. And if Sherlock didn’t decline, John could surely take it as a good sign.

Sherlock looked uncertain for a second, but as soon as the emotion crossed his features it was already gone. Maybe his fretting mind had just made it up.

Sherlock got up from the couch in one swift motion and strode over to the armchair, where he stopped in front of John. He got on his knees and suddenly John’s mouth was very dry. Opening it to say that he hadn’t meant for him to help him undress in the living room, John found that no words would come out. The sight of Sherlock kneeling in front of him offering too much material for his imagination.

“This would be a lot easier if you’d stand up, John” nodding, John stood up. This had been far easier yesterday, when he’d been too exhausted to care much about Sherlock helping him get out of his dirty and blood stained clothes. Trying hard to look everywhere but Sherlock as he pulled John’s pajama trousers down carefully, John regretted saying anything for the second time this day. And he couldn’t pinpoint when this had seemed like a good idea.

The thought of simply cutting his clothes seemed very appealing and a lot less dangerous. If only there was a reasonable excuse for this. But even if there was, coming up with one while Sherlock pulled his pants down and, _holy shit_ , brushed with his knuckles accidentally over his skin, was an unsolvable task for John’s brain at the moment.

_Breathe normally, John. Sherlock is simply helping you undress, no reason to picture him taking care of something else._

If these images continued to pop up uninvited like that John would no longer need to hide his attraction because the truth would be pointed out pretty much right in Sherlock’s face. Very literally so.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It annoyes me that I can't write Sherlock's POV as eloquent as I want it to sound, but I don't know yet enough vocabulary to do so and as I don't think over what I want to write in german first it's a bit of a problem to look up a word. This is especially aggregative in english classes when they want us to translate something and I know what it means in english, but don't remember the german equivalent.  
> Anyway, hope the grammar mistakes are at a minimum, but I didn't read through it again yet. It's six forty in the morning and I have to go to school in a few minutes.  
> There's another chapter to follow, as soon as I'm satisfied with porn writing skills =)

The television had proved itself unworthy a distraction to Sherlock. There were enough things to point out, but nothing challenging enough to keep his mind focused on for a longer period of time. It wasn’t beneficial for keeping his thoughts away from John when the good doctor was sitting between Sherlock and his distraction of choice. 

Soon Sherlock’s gaze clung to John’s figure on the armchair and he fell silent. Keeping his mind focused on the vacant babbling on the soap while the cause of his disturbed feelings was there, almost right in front of him was impossible. John seemed content watching that stuff and the pain killers obviously worked, so it couldn’t hurt to engulf himself in figuring out what exactly it was that had made him fall in love.  

There had to be at least some valid reasons. John was special and unique in Sherlock’s life, so much he knew. He was his only friend, the only person that bore his moods and one of the few people that didn’t call him a freak, whose opinion really mattered to Sherlock. The only one that praised him when he made his deductions. In most cases the reason he laughed or smiled.

Always right by his side when he needed him. The day they met had proved that.

When John had moved in with him, Sherlock had been sure that it would just be a matter of time until he’d stomp out of their flat and never return. Sherlock wouldn’t have blamed him. It wasn’t as if he tried to be a desirable person to be around. But John had stayed, even when Sherlock had more or less poisoned his drink in the Baskerville case and used him as a guinea pig.

All that didn’t make John leave him and even if Sherlock would never voice it, he was ineffably grateful for that. Perhaps it was for all of those reasons that Sherlock felt more than just friendship for him, Sherlock couldn’t tell.

What he could tell was that meanwhile John had noticed his staring and gone rigid in his armchair. Sherlock’s heart skipped, like when he was little and his brother had caught him doing something their parents had forbid. He made a face at this inordinately reaction. 

How on earth could he continue to act normal, or well their definition of normal, around John when his body acted this traitorous?

Sherlock started fidgeting, ignoring his urge to pace. He’d kill for a cigarette right now.

John shifted in his seat and winced, obviously straining his injured leg.

“Does it hurt much?” John turned around to look at him, startled at Sherlock’s caring tone.

“It’s alright, but I need to check the wounds. Disinfect them again” John was quiet for a moment, eyeing him thoughtfully “Could you help me remove my pajama so I can take a look at them?”

Sherlock’s mouth went suddenly very dry and for a second his poker face slipped. He was absolutely positive that it wasn’t a good idea to let his hands anywhere that near John, but it was a reasonable request. More importantly, it concerned John’s health.

He stood up and went over to the armchair, kneeling down on the floor as this would make it easier since John was shorter than him. Sherlock kept his eyes on John’s knees, trying to focus on the pattern of his pajama.

“This would be a lot easier if you’d stand up, John” He managed to keep his voice neutral and John complied.

Sherlock moved his hands to the waistband and he started to undress John carefully as not to cause any pain.

No, not undressing John, but helping him remove his clothes. Sherlock chided himself. Disobeying his command, his eyes travelled up John’s leg and before Sherlock could stop himself, he let the knuckles of his right hand brush over John’s skin. He felt John shudder underneath his hand and it took every shred of his willpower not to repeat the motion.

Practically junking them down the rest of the way, Sherlock took in a deep breath, trying to calm down his racing heart. Then he let go of John’s pajama and stood up to remove the top. He had no doubt that the blush on his face had to be clearly visible and he cursed his pale skin.

Unbuttoning the top proofed itself to be even more difficult. There was too much skin in close proximity to Sherlock’s hands. His fingers practically twitched with the urge to touch John. Not being allowed to touch and explore it was like standing right in front of an interesting crime scene and not being able to go and take a look at it.

Somehow Sherlock managed to remove that piece of clothing as well without groping John.

“I’ll fetch the antiseptic” Sherlock hurried into the bathroom while John sat back down. It was only then that he realized that John could have removed the top himself. And it took Sherlock a few more seconds to realize a second thing. He’d have to help John redress as well. This time he’d let John take care of the buttons. He wasn’t sure if he could keep his hands at bay a second time.

The antiseptic, absorbent cotton and bandage was found way too fast for Sherlock liking, but at least the blush had subsided. And the thought of having to look at John’s injuries, injuries he was responsible for, was enough to get rid of the warm, fluttering feeling in his stomach.

When he returned to the living room, John was slightly bent forward, examining his injured leg. Sherlock took a moment to appreciate the sight of a nearly naked John. Stepping closer, Sherlock put a generous bit of the antiseptic on the cotton.

“Here” John raised his head, not quite looking at Sherlock and took the offered piece of drenched cotton. Though he found that unusual, he was grateful for it because John had gotten far too good at reading Sherlock’s face and he had no idea what John would see if he looked.

“Thanks, Sherlock” John dabbed the wound on his leg, wincing at the sting of the antiseptic “It’s healing quite nicely. Give it a month and I’m as good as new”

Sherlock forced himself to look at the injury, guilt nagging at his mind. He couldn’t let his feelings hinder him at providing John help while he needed it.

“Let me bandage it” John had just finished disinfecting his arm and looked up, a faint hint of surprise evident on his face. Sherlock felt another pang of guilt. Did he really appear that uncaring for John to be astounded at his unsolicited offer to help?

Kneeling down at the left side of the armchair, he grabbed John’s arm lightly and started to bandage it. Goose bumps rise on John’s skin, followed by a slight shudder. Sherlock arched a brow, wondering what could have evoked that as this was the second time John reacted like this to his touch.

Goose bumps usually occurred when somebody was either frightened, encountering intense emotions, feeling cold, experiencing something pleasant, anticipating something, during withdrawal from drugs or before or during having a seizure.

Most of them could be ruled out right away. It was neither too cold, nor was it probable that John would remember something that would trigger a reaction like that when Sherlock came in contact with his skin twice in a row.  In conjunction with the shiver however Sherlock could rule out anything else and mark it down as emotionally triggered.

Which meant in conclusion that John either found his touch pleasant or was averse to it. Or maybe Sherlock was just over thinking things again. It could simply be a reaction of John’s body to being touched and not necessarily have something to do with Sherlock being the one touching him.

He was no expert in reading human reactions, so it was possible that he got it wrong. John could anticipate pain caused by being bandaged by Sherlock’s untrained hands. He really shouldn’t read so much onto it.

But what if John truly found his touch unpleasant? Sherlock frowned. It didn’t matter whether John found hi s touch pleasant or not, because there was no need for John to like it. It was not as if Sherlock had any reason to make skin contact in the future. Regretfully.

Before his busy brain registered that his body took measures of its own once more, he scooted over and began to bandage John’s leg as well, evoking a sharp intake of breath from John.

“You don’t need to do this, Sherlock. I’m capable of bandaging it myself” John’s voice sounded off, but Sherlock couldn’t quite place what it was. Looking up, he found that John was once again looking anywhere but him.

“It’s alright. I don’t mind doing it” That’s when he saw it and his heart rate accelerated.  John’s pupils were dilated. Too much to hold the light responsible for it, because for that it was too bright in the living room. Not contracted like they’d be when John would see something unpleasant.

Should he act on this observation? Sherlock had enough data to verify his presumption, but still, should he really endanger their friendship based on this?

Fastening the bandage, Sherlock made up his min.

“John, your pupils are dilated. Seeing something pleasant?” his heart raced, dreading and eagerly awaiting John’s reaction at the same time.

A blush crept up John’s neck. “M-maybe it’s just the light” John stammered, clearly not believing it himself and they both knew it.

“No, I don’t think so” Now John paled considerably and Sherlock couldn’t contain his delighted smile. Spurred on by John’s reaction, Sherlock laid his hand flat on John’s thigh, drawing small circles with his thumb.

“Do you like my touch?” Sherlock inquired in a husky voice. John’s eyes widened and for a moment he simply stared at Sherlock in bafflement. If he’d made any mistake in his deduction, he would be so screwed.

“Sh-sherlock, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” John swallowed audibly, his eyes begging him to reassure him that this wouldn’t blow up in his face; that Sherlock wasn’t conducting some bizarre experiment on him.

“Can I touch you, John?” Sherlock felt breathless, despite the fact that he was simply kneeling there.

“Yes” John breathed, sounding equally as breathless “Oh god, yes”


	16. Chapter 16

Heavy panting and an occasional moan or gasp was drowned out by the still running telly, but none of the two could bother to turn it off. Sherlock’s fingertips ghosted over John’s skin, elaborately exploring every inch of his body, doing the same with his mouth when he couldn’t hold back anymore. Starting with John’s knee, he slowly worked his way up to his stomach, leaving open mouthed kisses along its trail, tongue tracing the outline of John’s hipbones, relishing the little breathless noises it evoked from the doctor.   

Every sound and reaction to the touch of a particularly sensitive area was filed away for later references. Sherlock wanted to categorize them all, from intensity to the art of the noise. He sucked just above the bellybutton, making John squirm under his mouth. He then proceeded to move up until he was just above the gash on his chest, sedately nibbling at his collarbone, bracing himself on the piece of armchair between John’s legs, who spread them to give him more room.

He didn’t get the time to devote himself to John’s neck as the doctor impatiently grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him up to press their mouths together. Sherlock wasn’t experienced in the act of kissing, his few encounters with another pair of lips had been more of a scientific verification with moderately pleasing outcome than actual desire. He had been content with having experienced it physically and having felt the endorphins it could produce, but it had never been worth repeating for him until now. Surely the emotional component had been amiss.

John proved to be just as practiced with his tongue as he was with a gun, taking control over the kiss which Sherlock gladly gave him, fully engaged with the task of not toppling over and clutched John’s shoulder in need for balance, barely missing the wound on his upper arm. Sherlock moaned into the kiss at an especially swift move of John’s tongue paired with the feeling of a hand squeezing his buttock. Much too soon he drew back, head dizzy and thoughts blurry from the lack of oxygen and arousal.

Hasty moving finger fumbled with the buttons of his shirt while Sherlock sucked a bruise on John’s neck, smiling against the skin when John let out a frustrated grunt.

“There are too many of those bloody buttons” How badly Sherlock wanted to record this voice filled with lust and breathless from their kiss so he could listen to it when John was at work and Sherlock had no case he could occupy his from boredom decaying brain with. John probably wouldn’t approve of it though.

Eventually he managed to unbutton the last stud, quickly pulling it down his arms and heedlessly tossing it on the ground. Eager fingers roamed over his back, pulling him closer to capture his lips in another breathtaking kiss. Sherlock hummed in approval when one hand went resumed kneading his buttock, arching slightly into the touch. Skilled fingers stroked over his chest and Sherlock accidentally bit down on John’s tongue when he pinched his nipple. 

“Oh god, John, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-” he hastily apologized, the metallic taste of blood unfurling in his mouth.

“Thank the painkillers. It doesn’t hurt that much” John giggled and Sherlock was a bit taken aback, not sure what was so funny about being bitten in the tongue in the middle of kissing.

“You should have seen your face” John buried his face in the crook of Sherlock’s neck, laughing helplessly. The consulting detective pursed his lips, waiting for John’s laugher to cease. When that didn’t happen, Sherlock purposefully grabbed the bulge in John’s boxers and squeezed, a choked off sound somewhere between a laugh and a moan escaped John’s lips. Sherlock smirked victoriously when there was no giggle to follow. Instead he couldn’t seem to open Sherlock’s fly fast enough and Sherlock stood up to give him better access. John moved up from the armchair, hand clutching around Sherlock’s neck to bend him down for a kiss and they stumbled towards the bedroom, Sherlock nearly tripping when his feet got tangled in his halfway shoved down trousers and John swore loudly when he bumped against the doorframe of Sherlock’s room.

They more or less toppled onto the bed, the doctor already pulling down Sherlock’s briefs, who was straddling John’s hips, faintly aware through the desire that clouded his mind that he needed to be considerate of John’s injuries. He dragged his thumb over John’s kiss swollen lips, admiring the flush that had spread across his face. Momentarily, he forgot to breathe as John’s fingers wrapped around his erection, setting a slow pace and Sherlock arched his back, hand digging into the mattress.

Teeth sunk into his lower lip as John’s thumb circled around his tip, smearing precum, before a throaty groan escaped Sherlock’s mouth.

“Do you like that, Sherlock?” the doctor repeated the motion and Sherlock most definitely did not whimper.

“I think you…ahhh…should be able to see that” John rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips and brought up his other hand to stroke Sherlock’s side.

“So, no dirty talk” Sherlock frowned. Of course he could do that. If that was what John wanted he’d even read poorly written erotic novels until he’d have mastered it to perfection. Supporting himself with a hand above John’s head he leaned forward until his mouth was at John’s ear, panting heavily.

“Your hand on my cock feels better than anything I can imagine. I never want you to let go of it again” John’s hand sped up slightly, making it difficult for Sherlock to form coherent words “When your injuries are healed I…hmm…want you to fuck me so hard that Mrs. Hudson can..ah…hear it over the noise of her telly” he slipped his other hand down John’s boxers, gripping his shaft and John’s pace faltered as he moaned.

He used the opportunity to sit up and push his underwear down and circled his hips, grinding their erections together. John arched up under the touch, mouth falling open in bliss. Sherlock’s brain might have short-circuited a bit when John’s hand started to move again, wrapping about both their cocks. Gathering his thoughts, Sherlock continued where he’d left off. John hadn’t complained yet about his dirty talking so he must be doing a decent job.

“Don’t stop, John. I want you to..hahhh…make me beg for release. Even if Mycroft would appear in the doorway I..ah…want you to keep your hands on my dick until I come” John blinked a few times and looked at him with wide blown pupils.

“I really don’t want to imagine that”  It would have been a blow to his pride in another situation to not excel at something even the most ordinary person seemed to can do, but as it was speaking had become quite difficult anyway. He’d start reading erotic novels tomorrow.

 He captured John’s lips in a needy, open-mouthed kiss, body rocking in sync to John’s pace. Heat coiled at the pitch of his stomach and the movement of John’s hand had grown frantic. Sherlock couldn’t recall digging his fingers into the mattress, knuckles turning white. He arched his back when he came, moaning something incoherent against John’s mouth and he could feel John trembling beneath him a few moments later.  Rolling over, Sherlock collapsed beside the doctor, gasping for air.

“Why haven’t we done this sooner?” John turned his head to look at him, grinning widely.

“Because you consider yourself married to your work”

“One could say it’s more of an open relationship”

“That’s good, I wouldn’t want to have an affair” John leaned towards him and pressed a chaste kiss on his lips.

If anyone dared to try and take John away from him again they wouldn’t live to regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally completed! Yay!! =)  
> Well, this scene turned out more graphic than I'd thought and I'm so glad I was in the room when my mom used the computer, cause the document had still be open or it would have been really awkward. Her boyfriend is called John and to imagine she might have gotten a glimpse at it...well, good thing she didn't >_>  
> Hope you enjoyed it! =D


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